I took my artist date on Wednesday this week and headed north out of Rhode Island bound for the IKEA store in Stoughton, Massachusetts which is always a source of inspiration. A friend and I used to drive up every few months to browse and feast on their famous Swedish meatballs. This week I felt drawn to immerse myself in a lifestyle I am passionate about---minimalism. If you know me, even virtually, then you know my mantra is, less is more. Less baggage, less stress, less attachment. More freedom, more connection, more memories.
I've had the big house. I've had all the stuff. Over the years, I've lived in a 3,800 square foot reproduction Colonial with four other members of my family, and I've enjoyed a second home in the White Mountains. From Memorial Day through mid-November, I live in my 400-square foot art studio with my sweet cat, Carla. My happiness could be due to several factors. I am single-by-choice (that means I'm not waiting for someone to show up with the key). I live debt-free. My adult children have lovely lives of their own and they welcome me often into their worlds. In short, I live an uncluttered life. Only the people, places and things that I love occupy my time, my home, my life, my world.
I experienced a convergence of thoughts on my drive back to Rhode Island on Wednesday. With several IKEA room dimensions dancing around in my head (all under 500 square feet), I caught the tail-end of an NPR segment about the boom Amazon continues to experience ever since the advent of Covid in 2020, as more and more people sought to fill their homes and empty hours. Finally, I drove by one of those metal storage facilities that people rent to store the stuff they don't have room for, and I flashed on our landfills chock full of waste.
As a woman in long-term recovery, I have a pretty good understanding of addictions and the compulsions that drive them. My drug of choice was alcohol, but make no mistake, alcohol and drugs are just one distraction. People also use food, shopping, sex, gambling and relationships to fill their despair, their longing, their dissatisfaction. But the stuff just adds another layer between you and your higher self.
I used to provide in-home massage therapy to a 90-year-old artist in her assisted living apartment. It was warm, cozy and inviting. Upon moving in, she had selected memorabilia and furnishings that she loved most to decorate her new home. When she passed away I thought about her adult children dutifully cleaning out her apartment. She only left what she loved, and I hope that made her children’s task easier and more poignant.
The next time you feel you can't live without that new pair of shoes, or plush home good, or fancy kitchen gadget, consider some quiet contemplation instead. Consider the possibility that now, and in the long run, less just might be more.
